The Return…

Good afternoon. And how might you be? Me, oh well Im ok thanks but a bit brain damaged from having sat through two hours of meeting with my accountant and sorting out my taxes. Meeting with him is generally an odd experience. It involves going to Edgeware which is a part of London atmosphere forgot. There are lots of buildings and shops that cater for the sort of people that have only ever been within a 1 mile radius of their house, and in only one direction. Its a funny little surburbian area that freaks me out. Within that, my accountant (who is vaguely related to me via my Great Aunt) works in an office that looks like it is trapped in a 70s time warp. All the chintz furniture and bland colours feel like I could be in any episode of any 70s sitcom, if say Mork and Mindy or Happy Days only had people sitting very quietly working out how ‘taking clients to strippers’ can be passed of as ‘stationary allowance’. This is until I enter his part of the office. This has a very different look and keeping with the 70s analagy I would say its more Vietnam War than disco funk. Papers everywhere, boxes on the floor. If Ryman dropped bombs, the blitz would look like this. He also doesnt use a computer, just a pencil, paper, and today, a magnifying glass because my print outs were too small. Still he is very very good at doing stuff that I dont understand, and today he told me that last year I earnt only just enough to live on, which is nice. Well its not really, as it would explain why I’m so horribly horribly broke. Still, at least I know why now and can no longer blame it on the debt fairy.

I finally finished all my tax input dullness yesterday afternoon, which was roughly the exact time the sunshine fucked right off. I wouldn’t like to say it was planned, as that would make me seem paranoid. But someone has definitely rigged the weather in order to ruin my week. Instead as a celebration me and Layla took our bi-annual trip to Blockbuster. People have asked me why we still go to Blockbuster when such avenues as Love Film and Netflix exist. Well its because firstly I sometimes like feeling I am still in the 90s, and secondly its to witness the sadness and despair that exists within such places. It makes me feel better looking at that staff who stand around wondering why they exist. They know its pointless being there, as does everyone else, and they know its just a matter of time before they dissipate into the atmosphere like a misery guff. Yesterday there were only four other people in the shop. One was just walking around the same aisle in circles hoping that a film would just throw itself at him as the lack of choice provided him with nothing he wanted to watch but could not cope with the idea of watching no films at all. The other three were staring at the ‘Exclusively to Blockbuster’ section, which ironically, had nothing on its shelves whatsoever. I told the man at the till that this meant nothing was exclusive to Blockbusters but he grunted and looked like with further provocation he would eat his own limbs. I did try asking for several films I knew were out of stock, but after rummaging around like a spastic badger he just shrugged lots and gave me a look as though he really really wanted me to leave. We finally settled on Changeling on Blu-ray because we are in the future and like paying £1 more for a DVD with a different name. Annoyingly when we got home it was still Changeling on DVD and I felt we had been conned. I apologise for the quality of that joke.

Fat Tuesday returns tonight which should be good. Well it should be, but judging by ticket sales so far it might be a bit quiet. This may be due to my rubbish plan of re-opening just after a Bank Holiday. I’m hoping that lots of people turn up on the door. I’m also hoping that it all runs ok. Already I’ve had the new bar manager ask me if we want to run it in the massive room downstairs. I tried to explain using words such as ‘small and cosy enviroment’ why we don’t want to, but it was treated with a rather vacant response. Fingers crossed it’ll be nice. If you fancy coming along, have a lookie here for line-ups and tickets:

Thats all for today. I must go and panic about poorness and gigs. Or pogness as I like to call it. Sadly that often gets confused with a short lived children’s toy craze from the 90s that no one remembers.